


Even Air Castles Can Crumble

by My_Alter_Ego



Category: White Collar
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Life-Threatening Injuries, M/M, Rough Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension, sexual fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 03:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9473453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: Peter and Neal's relationship slowly changes as they work side-by-side. Then a catastrophic event alters the dynamic, and suddenly, a lot of things seem to be in peril.





	

     Neal hadn’t been out of prison and working under Peter’s supervision for very long when he began to perceive the sexual tension in the air. Neal was an intuitive and savvy con artist, and, as such, his skill at reading people was finely honed. He knew an unsuspecting person’s motivations even before the pieces managed to crystalize in their own minds. Moreover, as an expert con man, Neal knew how to nurture and manipulate those desires for his own ends.

     If Neal were being honest—and wasn’t that a hoot—he had to admit that his and Peter’s relationship had never been ordinary. During the epic chase, the FBI agent’s attention had been exhilarating, and, like it or not, Neal found himself intrigued. Unfortunately, that had been the fatal chink in his armor and his ultimate downfall.

     Neal never even thought it necessary to delve into Peter’s psyche during those three long years. He was too busy being on the run and trying to keep one step ahead of the persistent man. The wanted criminal viewed his single-minded nemesis as a straight arrow who was determined to be top dog in his little government realm of sycophants. Time after time, a cheeky and brash young scoundrel was the one who always seemed to get away. Neal had thwarted Peter’s goal, and that just pissed the agent off and made him try harder to win the prize.

     However, barely two months into Neal’s forced submission under his handler, the con man got an inkling that he had misread Peter, and that really surprised him. It had been something that Elizabeth Burke had casually mentioned in one of their infrequent one-on-one conversations. She let slip that Peter had a “Caffrey Box” stashed away in his house containing all the memorabilia amassed during their little waltz around the globe.

     Of course, Neal made sure to perform due diligence and had clandestinely found that treasure trove to satisfy his curiosity. He unearthed nothing in there that could be construed as evidence against him. The items were rather more personal—birthday cards, crumbled doodling on scrap paper, old wine corks, and world maps with little red arrows. However, even after Neal’s capture and incarceration, Peter had kept everything. Maybe Peter’s obsession with Neal had started years ago, and this inherent drama was more convoluted than Neal had originally thought.

     Six months into his CI’s supervised and restricted existence, Peter finally made his move after the intimate touches to Neal’s back or shoulders and the fond little smiles and lingering gazes no longer were enough to pacify the man’s urges. It had happened in Neal’s loft one evening after a particularly knotty case had been solved and another tick had been entered in the win column for the cop and con. Perhaps it was the easy flow of wine and beer, or maybe Peter had already planned it all out in his head. How “it” had come about wasn’t the issue. What _was_ at the core of this perhaps foregone conclusion was that the sex was hot, heavy, and rough.

     Neal certainly wasn’t a neophyte when it came to any kind of sex. When he was young, his handsome good looks had women flocking to him as well as the occasional attractive young man. So, Neal, with the exuberance of youth, was determined to satisfy his curiosity and not miss out on anything. Later, when he was older and under Mozzie’s tutelage, he had a brief relationship with another man before Kate happened. With her arrival on the scene, a besotted young man suddenly developed tunnel vision. 

     During those early days, Mozzie was resigned to Neal’s peccadillos. With a deep sigh, he proclaimed that his mandate was to educate Neal’s brain and sharpen his criminal expertise, not police his libido. That definitely didn’t fall within Mozzie’s purview, so Neal was on his own with that one.

     Now, the young man knew it was only a matter of time before intuitive little Mozzie would glom onto this present new soap opera, and wondered what he would say this time around. Perhaps Neal really didn’t want to be privy to the conspiracy theorist’s thoughts on mind control!

     Neal was well aware that he preferred to assume a docile role when it came to sex with men. Well, that fit easily into Peter’s wheelhouse, because the older man definitely liked to be the dominant force. Neal didn’t have an issue with restraints, be they blindfolds, handcuffs, zip ties, or silk scarves. He didn’t mind the creative sex toys, the cock rings, the bite marks to his torso, or the occasional restricting hands to his throat. He actually liked role-playing and was very good at it. Of course, with his background, he could win an Oscar at the Academy Awards.

     When it had first begun, Neal had reveled in ferreting out Peter’s Achilles Heel and was pondering ways that he could exploit it to his advantage. But then, those thoughts melted into the deep recesses of Neal’s mind when he discovered that he got off on the passionately demanding sex as much as Peter did, and hungrily craved the intimacy no matter how debauched.

      However, he was surprised when an unfamiliar pang of guilt plucked at his conscience regarding Elizabeth. Did she even know that Peter was being unfaithful to her? But, when he voiced that concern to his handler, Peter informed him that he and his wife had come to a meeting of the minds about the situation. Neal wasn’t quite sure what that really meant, and he wasn’t about to ask. Maybe the unspoken subtext was that Peter could do things to Neal that he would never do to his wife, so she was okay with that.

     Yes, Peter certainly had a lot of kinks, and one was extremely graphic. His voice would suddenly become as hard as his cock as he rasped out a litany of the same rhetoric each time that he fucked Neal long and mercilessly.

     “Is this how it was for you in prison, Neal? Did some huge skinhead bull who was hung like a horse shove his big cock into you over and over while his cronies held you down? Did that thick schlong of his hit that deep spot with each thrust and make you get hard even as you were crying in pain. Did he make you come as he split your hole open and rammed in again and again? And, when he was done and his cum was running out of your open little hole, did he pass you around to his posse so that they could fuck you too? Did he make you suck his cock to get him hard again while the others fucked you from behind?”

     The reality of Neal’s incarceration was quite a different story from the one Peter had graphically painted in his mind, but Neal saw no reason to set the record straight for his handler. The fact was that the con man had spent almost four very uneventful years inside prison assigned the boring job of converting an antiquated library card catalogue into a computer-generated model. He played the occasional game of poker and lots of chess in the early evenings after dinner before being escorted back to his cell. Since conjugal visits did not happen in Supermax, the only sex that he had was courtesy of his own right hand during the lonely hours of the night.

     Like Peter, over the years Neal had allowed himself to imagine different carnal fantasies about Kate. Even he had to admit that some were downright disgusting and, in real life, he would never have even dared to ask his pure, sweet Kate to play them out. But, fantasies were harmless if they stayed just fantasies. So, Neal had no objections if Peter’s vision of him being tortured and sexually abused while in prison enhanced his erotic pleasure.

     The problem arose, however, when Peter’s fantasy turned very real. The FBI, represented by Peter’s handpicked team, had been bird-dogging a suspected mastermind behind a human trafficking enterprise. The guy was shrewd and slick, and managed to cover his tracks well, but, in the end, he was no match for Peter and Neal.

     The plan was to take the evil man down in his lair the next afternoon. Earlier in the week, Neal had managed to approach him, off the radar, with a business proposal that had piqued the greedy interest of the purveyor of human flesh. The anklet had been removed and the CI had the fake Rolex firmly on his wrist so that they could get the man on the record making the deal. Neal also had an earbud in place enabling him to hear Peter and any further instructions.

     But, like the best-laid plans, this one went pear-shaped in a big way. When the earbud inexplicably malfunctioned and emitted a telltale whine, Neal suddenly found himself with a gun at his temple and rough hands dragging him out an emergency exit. He was thrown into a generic black van after being tased into submission. His very next coherent perception was being facedown on a bed in four-point restraints made out of chain, and experiencing excruciating agony.

     It took the team three days to find Neal, and the scene that Peter, Diana, and Jones ultimately witnessed in a dingy bedroom of an isolated little house in Queens was beyond a normal person’s frame of reference. A depraved, spawn of Satan was leaning over a naked Neal who was secured to the iron frame of a bed. The CI seemed barely conscious, and the appalling collage of lash marks, welts, bites, and burns on his back was a testament to the torture that he had endured during the last seventy-two hours. Perhaps most disconcerting were the rivulets of dried blood that had snaked their way down his thighs before congealing onto the mattress.

     Peter seemed frozen in place, so it fell to Jones to hold the sadist at gunpoint while Diana frantically checked Neal’s neck for a pulse. However, even ever-vigilant Jones was caught off guard when his boss suddenly lunged for the perpetrator and began pummeling him with a ferocity that was frightening. It took all of Jones’ formidable strength as well as a helping hand from Diana to pull Peter off the man who was now reduced to bloody pulp.

     Two ambulances were needed that day—one for Neal and one for the patient who was later treated in the intensive care unit for a fractured jaw, fractured ribs that had punctured his lung, and a lacerated spleen that almost caused him to bleed out. He would pull through to await trial for his crimes, but it was touch and go for a while.

     Neal was an in-patient at the same hospital for almost a week. It was easy enough to treat the injuries on the outside, but the internal damage required a bit of surgical intervention to facilitate those repairs. It wasn’t just a rigid penis that had been shoved inside of the helpless captive.

     Jones, Diana, and even Hughes made brief guest appearances, which made Neal more than uncomfortable. Jones seemed shyly reticent and, after a brief exchange, beat a hasty exit. So it fell to perceptive Diana to make things right. She knew exactly what was bothering the proud young man.

     “Listen, Neal, we protect our own, so the official report is marked confidential and sealed up tight. As far as all your co-workers in the office know, you were savagely tortured and beaten, but they aren’t privy to the sexual assault, and they never will be.”

     “But Peter knows," Neal interjected, "and he hasn’t been in to see me at all. Maybe he’s too disgusted to face me after everything that’s happened.”

    Neal watched Diana’s eyes closely for any kind of tell, and he knew that he wasn’t imagining a slight flicker in her stoic façade.

     “Is that how it is, Diana? C’mon, you know him better than anyone, so just tell me the truth. After everything that’s happened, do you really think that I can’t handle it?”

     “It’s not what you think, Neal. God—you are your own worst enemy! You probably aren’t aware of the fact that Peter almost killed your torturer with his bare hands when we finally found him with you. As a result, that piece of filth was practically on death’s doorstep just two floors down in this same hospital.

     Now, for your ears only, let me tell you how we played it. Thanks to us, it was officially written up that the dude sustained his injuries while trying to escape custody. I think that we even threw in a mysterious flight of concrete steps, and maybe even a piece of rusty pipe sticking out somewhere to enhance the narrative.

     So, how do you think that’s going to go, Neal? Is anyone going to take a depraved scumbag’s account into consideration, or are they going to believe the word of solid FBI agents? I’m sure Hughes knows our report is all a load of bullshit, but he’s going along with the farce anyway. Maybe the old fart has finally developed a soft spot for you, or maybe he’s just looking out for Peter’s best interests.

     At this juncture, Peter shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and right now he needs to keep a cool head and not play the ethically challenged martyr contemplating falling on his sword. And, you need to stop worrying about his absence. At the present time, the boss is on administrative duty, and he can’t come anywhere near you until OPR finishes up corroborating our little fairy tale.”

     Neal was wide-eyed as he listened to Diana lay it all out for him.

     “Oh, don’t look so gob-smacked, Caffrey. It’s not a good look on you!” Diana harrumphed. “Don’t you know that Peter would do anything to avenge you? I wouldn’t put it past him to rain down a plague of locusts on anyone who harmed a hair on your head. Now, rest up and get your act together because I hear that they’re springing you out of this joint in a few days.”

     Neal actually did have a representative from the Burke family make an appearance the night before he was to be discharged. Now that he could finally have regular visitors, Elizabeth stood, front and center, in the doorway. She hesitated for only a second before she quietly entered the room, sat gingerly beside him on the narrow hospital bed, and whispered a soft, “Oh, Neal.”

     Then she stroked the side of his face gently and placed a sweet kiss on his cheek. Neal closed his eyes tightly to prevent any tears from escaping. He could tolerate hatred, disdain, threats, or even indifference. Kindness, however, was always his emotional undoing.

     “Peter misses you, Sweetie,” Elizabeth breathed in his ear, “and wishes that he could have been here from the start. He’s also dealing with a raft of guilt because he couldn’t prevent what happened to you. I can talk until I’m blue in the face, but it won’t make a difference. I think that you both have to heal each other. He should be through with OPR this afternoon, so he’ll be free to spend tonight with you, and for as many more nights as necessary. Let him do whatever he needs to do to find his equilibrium again, and to help you find yours. You’ll need each other more than ever now.”

     Peter did, indeed, show up that evening with a wheeled carryon piece of luggage and a hanging bag for his suits. He had also brought some of El’s homemade soup and her pistachio ice cream. He fussed over Neal until he ate, and then tucked him into bed, sliding in gently beside him and pulling the young man’s head to his chest. Neal was lulled by the steady beat of Peter’s heart and fell into a contented sleep deeper than any he had managed during his hospitalization.

     Mozzie and June discretely left the pair alone, so while Peter availed himself of a week of vacation time, Neal availed himself of his handler’s comforting embrace. They talked about many things, but never the elephant in the room. It was as if by not mentioning it, the tragedy had never happened.

     But, they certainly were not the same two people anymore. Peter went back to work and to Elizabeth after his allotted timeout, and Neal returned to his desk at the FBI another week after that. His colleagues greeted him like a war hero, actually standing and applauding when he pushed through the glass doors on the 21st floor. Neal glanced up and saw Peter fondly beaming at the scene from his perch high above the main floor. Hughes actually came down from his own office and shook Neal’s hand.

     The old dynamic was now back intact in the workplace as well as in Neal’s loft. Well, almost intact. Peter still came a few times per week to spend the night in Neal’s bed, but the sex was different now. It usually consisted of deeply passionate kisses, enticing stroking, and reciprocal hand jobs to release the heightened erotic tension. The hard-driving fucks seemed to have been abandoned along the way, and there was never talk of prison rape or anything remotely like it. Now Peter was the epitome of gentleness.

     After four months of this strange transition, Neal finally confronted his lover.

     “Don’t you ever want to fuck me anymore, Peter? Do you consider me so dirty and defiled that it turns you off?”

     “No, Neal!” Peter quickly responded. “That’s not it and don’t ever go there again with that line of thinking.”

     “Then tell me what ‘it’ is, Peter, because we’re not the same as we once were, and that scares me because it’s like you’ve become somebody else that I don’t know.”

     Peter frowned and tried to put his own fears into words.

     “I wasn’t sure that you would want that kind of sex anymore Neal, after what happened to you. I’m the first to admit that what we used to do was sometimes beyond rough and coarse, and I would never forgive myself if it caused you to have flashbacks to what that pervert did to you.”

     “But you’re not him, Peter,” Neal pleaded. “So, okay, I’ll agree that maybe our couplings were a bit on the wild side and strange because they were fueled by your sexual fantasies, but it was a part of you that I understood. If you take away those fantasies, Peter, then you are not you anymore.”

     “Even air castles can crumble, Neal,” Peter said quietly.

     “So, what do you do when that happens?” Neal was almost afraid to hear the answer.

     “I guess together we both gather up the chunks of stone and begin to build a new and different and stronger fortress—a better version of us,” Peter smiled fondly.

     And suddenly, everything was again right in Neal’s world.

    

    


End file.
